


Adventures In Silicone

by Edoro



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Strap-Ons, Trans Character, Vibrator, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoro/pseuds/Edoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’ve already made a comprehensive mental list of all the hideous attributes of a mostly naked human body, from the smooth softness of their skin to the light dusting of hair they apparently all have to the bizarre vestigial thoracic fat-sack protrusions he says are called nipples to whatever the hell a <i>navel</i> is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures In Silicone

**Author's Note:**

> Also [here](http://homesmut.livejournal.com/17313.html?thread=34977185#t34977185) on the kinkmeme.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are embarking on an absolutely vital mission of interspecies discovery and diplomacy. As the leader of the group, it’s only fitting that you be the leader in xenobiological explorations, which is why you’re tucked up in Strider’s respiteblock, sitting uneasily on the edge of his obscene sleeping device, eyes fixed on the last bit of fabric separating you from the disgusting reality of human genitalia.

“You’re gonna stare a hole through my fuckin’ boxers, dude. I know that you’re just a curious little monkey and all, but I like these, so could you maybe cut it out?” He’s leaning back on his hands, stripped down to his boxers but with the sunglasses on, which you absolutely know is only to piss you off.

You could have - and did, and will - told him that he didn’t need to bother. Pissing you off is his base state of existence. There is literally nothing Dave Strider is capable of doing that doesn’t piss you off, even at his most innocuous. You hate the way he walks. You hate him from the fine little puffs of hair sticking off the top of his head down to every single toe, down to his instep. The mere fact that he was ever created is enough to send you into a rage so bottomless you could fit all three of the known universes in it and still account for his fucking ego.

“The whole point of me being here is to look at you, chutesucker.” You give his entire body a slow once-over, appraising him as blatantly as you can without blushing. You’ve almost gotten to the point of being able to admit he’s hot without hating yourself more than usual, and right now you’ve been kissed just stupid enough to forget you should loathe him _platonically_. 

You’ve already made a comprehensive mental list of all the hideous attributes of a mostly naked human body, from the smooth softness of their skin to the light dusting of hair they apparently all have to the bizarre vestigial thoracic fat-sack protrusions he says are called nipples to whatever the hell a _navel_ is. You’ve also taken copious notes about Strider’s personal anatomy, the better to disparage his many and terrible shortcomings with. He looks a lot like Gamzee, all tall and skinny and sort of small with the attitude stripped off, like a purrbeast dunked in water.

You’ve also noted that his vestigial thoracic fat-sacks are bigger than Gamzee’s. You feel a little weird about knowing that.

You reach for the hem of his boxers, ready to just get this over with, and he actually bats your hand away. For a second you’re too angry to speak, the fury choking you the way you’re going to be doing to him as soon as you get back in control of yourself.

“Hang on, dude, you can’t see the goods yet. I have to get ‘em.” With that, he slides off the bed and heads to the other side of the room, bending to root around in a chest. You absolutely don’t watch his stupidly pert ass.

“What?”

His back is turned to you, but you’d bet anything the bastard is smirking. “Didn’t you know human dicks were detachable? We can’t retract our shit like you guys can, but they’re still sensitive as fuck, so instead we evolved to be able to take ‘em off. So just sit tight, princess, I’ll get the wrench you need to clear out your plumbing quicker than you can make a shitty memo.”

“I can make a thousand _pants-shittingly glorious_ memos in the time it takes you to think up one lukewarm ‘burn’. But on a more important and also very disturbing note, how do you know what we do with our shit? Whose shit have you been observing? I didn’t give you permission to look at _my_ shit before just now, and I know Kanaya wouldn’t let you look at _hers_ , and I also know none of you grubfondling dumbasses knows how to find Gamzee, so his shit is basically as safe as anyone’s on this asteroid can be, so I’m really concerned here.”

He rolls his eyes using his whole head just so you can see. “Dude, do you know how far up in each other’s grills me and TZ have been? We’re basically sharing the same grill, at this point. Our grill is conjoined. We’re like two houses that started off with a couple feet between them and then the plucky teenagers inside built a bridge across the gap and now thirty years later it’s an apartment complex and our separate grills are the master bedroom. She has shown me the secrets to alien sex paradise, Karkles. She handed me the key to your species’ collective ignition. She has shown me the way, and the way is lined by writhing tentacle cocks.” Finally, he finds whatever he was looking for and begins fiddling around in the general area of his own crotch.

You hear a distressing snapping sound and try not to think about it. Luckily, you’re nauseated enough by the images he’s painted for you that thinking about anything but your bilesack rebelling all over his concupiscent couch is difficult.

“You’re disgusting and a liar,” you grit out, but you know it’s true. Terezi has no fucking shame, of course, wouldn’t know the proper course of a matespritship if it smacked her in the face, so of _course_ she’s gotten her grubby hands and mouth all over the sexy alien’s junk. Even with that talk you two had about the leader’s duties.

“Nah, man, you know she fucking loves me. Okay, are you ready for this?” He straights up and puts his hands on his hips, looking over his shoulder at you. “If you need a second to mentally prepare, I’ll give it to you.”

“Cram your mental preparation down your air-hole and die. Show me already.”

He turns around.

You try to think of something to say.

It’s...pink. That’s the first thing you notice. It’s violently pink. It’s so pink you think it may actually constitute an assault of your eyes.

The second thing you notice is that it’s transparent, not the way the rest of his skin is so that you can see blood vessels through it but actually transparent all the way down through itself, with only the middle dark enough to not really see through.

The third thing you notice is that it’s a fucking horror. It has prongs and nibs and knobs and bits sticking off where nothing should. It wouldn’t be out of place jutting from the swollen hemorrhoid of one of the uglier outer gods but is definitely, terrifyingly out of place sticking out all impudent and perky from the opening of Strider’s boxers.

It jiggles when he walks towards you, grinning fit to split his face open. Briefly, you consider just running away, but you’re half naked and anyway, if Terezi can face down the terrifying spectre of human genitals, then so can you.

He stops right in front of you and draws it back to the side, so it slaps you in the face when he lets it go. You bare your teeth and reach out to grab it. The texture is different from his skin, rubbery and almost sticky. It drags when you run your hand down the length of it.

“Try getting some lubricating action up in here, man,” Strider suggests. “Lick it.”

Your lips curl into a snarl all on their own, even as you lean in to lick down the side of it. Up close it has a distinctive smell, the kind that jacks itself tight into your odor receptors, although you can’t quite figure out if it’s good or bad. Sort of chemical and rubbery. It tastes about the same way as it smells.

The way he looks at you while you lick it is humiliating. He’s just standing there, hands loose at his sides and stance easy, head tilted down to watch you mouthing and licking his weird-ass bulge like that’s where you belong. The worst part is how good being this angry at him makes you feel.

Licking it does make it easier to handle. Your hand glides smoother over its length, the bumpy parts all now a pleasant texture against your palm. Something about the fact that you’re touching his _bulge_ makes that sexy, even though they’re just weird plasticky knobs. Getting your mouth on it was sexy, too, although you’ll never let him find that out.

Right around the time your spit starts drying all tacky and stickier than whatever the thing is made of, he pulls out of your grasp and sits down. “I showed you mine,” he says, reaching out to tug your underwear. “Now show me yours.”

You wrestle your underwear off and try not to feel like there’s a big, red CULL ME sign attached right to your crotch. He doesn’t know you’re a mutant, that the red flush of your nook and extending bulge are as good as a death sentence.

“Man, I can’t get over this blood color thing you guys have got going on,” Strider says as he reaches for your bulge, letting it twine around his fingers and then slowly stroking it straight. You try your damndest not to whine at that and curse Terezi for teaching him and not even letting you know. The dignity of your entire species is at stake here and she didn’t even prepare you for going into this encounter a rank virgin against the interspecies handjob master.

You suddenly realize you’ve been slacking and reach for his bulge, licking your palm and fingers first. The angle is awkward and you aren’t used to how stiff it is, but as you keep going on there’s a flush rising in his cheeks that you know has to be a good sign. The two of you try to kiss and both your coordinations go all to hell, hands jerking and twitching and falling still. The way his bulge just sits there in your hand really drives home how alien his is, especially when you can feel yours writhing and curling against his fingers even when he’s not moving them. 

You smugly decide that’s a point for trolls.

You’re far gone enough to whine when he breaks the kiss off, trying to lean into him again, but then his hands are around your hips and pulling you into his lap and yeah, wow, that’s basically the best idea anyone’s ever had. This close, your bulge can curl around his, the bumps that felt so odd against your hand absolutely delightful against your wiggling bulge. You squirm in his lap, pressing sloppy open-mouthed kisses against his lips and neck and anywhere you can reach, biting when you think you can get away with it and relishing the sharp little pained noises he makes, while his hands knead into your hips. His nails aren’t sharp enough to do any damage, but the dull flashes of pain are more than enough to get your pulse hammering.

One of them leaves your skin, fingers brushing along the edge of your joined bulges, and then his suddenly starts buzzing and vibrating. You recoil, a startled cry slipping free. It’s bizarre enough you almost don’t care how completely embarrassing that is.

“What the fresh, flipping _fuck_ is your appendage doing?”

It takes him a second to get back on track. “What? Dude, it’s just vibrating. Don’t trolls have vibrators?” His voice is strained, wavering, every couple of pauses longer than it should be. You want to see if you can actually make him stutter.

“I don’t know? I’m not some weirdo p-pervert who goes around playing with, with sex toys all the time! Oh shit, shit, man, this is so weird, why is it _moving_ like that?” The entire bulge is vibrating so hard you can see it moving, oscillating and leaving blurry little afterimages of itself. Nothing should be _doing_ that, but apparently your bulge disagrees with you; when you try to pull away you have to _try_ to make it uncoil, and after the initial shock it feels so damn good you don’t really want to. 

It’s almost too much. His bulge is slick with your fluids and knobbly under your twisting length, every bump and stud a sudden electric spike in the pleasure of curling around him, stimulating you until you think you might go insane. With the added vibration, the tension in your groin tightens and draws up until it almost hurts. You whine against his mouth, completely helpless to stop yourself from shuddering, grabbing at his shoulders and sides and not even bothering to keep from scratching him open.

“Watch the goods,” he gasps out. You just growl and dig your nails into his ribs until he squirms.

When you come it’s nearly a surprise, nearly painful. Every muscle draws tight and then you shake apart, head to toe, bulge spasming and nook clenching and the filthiest gasping moan spilling out of your throat. It keeps going even after you’re done, too limp and weak to even pull away. Eventually it actually _does_ hurt. You push pathetically at Strider, whimpering, until he groans and fumbles down between both your legs again and makes it stop.

“Nice stamina there, Cinderella,” he says, voice coming out in hard breathy gasps. “Way to leave a guy hanging. Mind trying to help me out here, since I showed you such a happy ending?”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” You reach for his bulge, though, shaky fingers curling around it. “Do I just...like this?”

He rocks up into your hand, bulge shifting weirdly with the motion, and makes it start vibrating again. “Yeah, yeah, just like that, just keep doing that, just - fuck, just kinda push it into me, more, _yeah_.” 

Now that you aren’t forgetting anything other than your bulge exists, you can pay more attention to him. He moves a lot, hands running up and down your sides, hips twitching and jerking, twisting and rolling his shoulders, and he makes a lot of noise. It’s all mostly soft, little wet gasps and hard breathing, but more than you’d expect from someone who puts up such an obnoxiously unflappable facade. You can read everything right now, tell exactly what he likes and doesn’t, figure out exactly how to move and how hard to push.

Your hand is starting to go numb and itchy by the time he finally comes. He arches hard and throws his head back, biting his lip and moaning long and low, and you decide to forgive him for the discomfort.

The two of you don’t quite cuddle. You both lay back on his concupiscent couch, shoulders almost touching, and try to remember how to form complex sentences or walk. Eventually he flops a hand down on his own hip and walks it inwards, fumbling around one-handed with his bulge until he gets it loose You catch a flash of a dark strap through the opening in his boxers as he pulls it free and drops it beside himself.

“So what’s your decision?” he asks after a few minutes. “How do we stack up against the mighty Alternian empire?”

“I guess your bulges aren’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” you admit. “They’ll do.”


End file.
